


No One Like You

by Veeebles



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is a soft boy on the inside, Billy is in love, Billy's mother, Book worm Billy, Established Relationship, Harringrove, M/M, Scorpions music, Soft Billy is my favourite thing, Song fic, Steve is in love, Steve looks after Billy, bisexual!steve harrington, gay!billy hargrove, music inspired, no one like you, soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veeebles/pseuds/Veeebles
Summary: Steve folds the covers back over his back, encasing him in the warmth of the sheets and Steve’s body, effectively banishing the night air chill in his skin. He threads his fingers in Billy’s curls and tilts his head to deepen the kiss and Billy could roar in satisfaction.  His hands roam over golden skin and Billy tongues at the creamy expanse of his neck, pressing his body into him, feeling him naked and hard and fucking delicious.Steve pulls away to look deep into Billy’s eyes, fingers pulling the curls away from his face and his expression is filled with so much feeling that has Billy’s heart racing and throat closing up and chest feeling so warm. His kisses become more desperate, his hands pull him closer and he tangles himself in this boy so tightly until he has no hope of escaping, no desire to.“There’s no one like you.”





	No One Like You

Despite it all, Billy likes spending evenings in his bedroom.

When its late, when Neil and Susan finally retire for the night after watching tv together, when Max rolls in to her own room for the night, when the whole house is asleep and quiet in the wee hours of the morning, Billy likes it best. He likes to splay out on his bed, room lit by the soft glow of his bedside lamp, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other.

His books were the one thing he treasured in this life. Them and his mother’s necklace he wore around his neck like a promise. Most of them had been hers. She had loved to read, would read him something to him every night before he went to sleep. They were never kids books, even at a young age he had grown bored of them. So instead, she read him her favourites, the classics; The Bronte’s, Shakespeare, Austen, Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens, Virginia Woolf, Tolkien. She would smile, climb into his bed with him and wrap him up in her arms. She always smelled sweet, her long curls the colour of the California sand would tickle at Billy’s shoulders and he would lie back against her chest as she opened the chosen book in her lap. She would read in a soft voice and would keep going until he was sound asleep. When she died, they were all he had been allowed to have of her.

He looks like her. Billy wonders if that’s the bigger reason his father’s hits are so hard, why they so often land on his face. He’s long since gotten used to the stares along the school corridors when he walks by sporting a black eye, sometimes two, a busted lip, a bruised jaw or cheek. No one questioned it, summed it up to bad boy Billy getting in to fights. He let them think what they wanted.

Harrington had questioned it.

After their fight at the Byer’s place, something had started up between them. Dropping Max off at that goddamn ball he had been forced to stay about, smoking in his car until it ended, Neil wanted to make sure he got her home safe and sound and that he wasn’t shirking his responsibilities. After the incident with the syringe, when Billy had eventually staggered home with a bloody nose and no Max, Neil had added to his injuries, painting his face until it looked like he had swallowed a wasp’s nest and almost looked as bad as Harrington. He warned him that if he ever let Max out of his sight again it would be the death of him. So, there he sat, sprawled out in his Camaro, smoking cigarette after cigarette until there was a tap at his window.

Harrington’s face had healed up by then, Billy still sported a few ugly yellow bruises along his jaw. The brunette had stood with his head ducked down, pretty eyes peering in to the car with a wary expression, soft brown strands of hair falling in to his eyes. Billy had busied himself with rolling down the window and did his best to ignore the twitch in his fingers that wanted to run through those strands and tuck them away from his face.

“On babysitting duty, Hargrove?”

“What’s it to you, Harrington?”

He had watched that pretty face look at him in a softness he didn’t deserve. He shifted, held up a joint, tapping it against the half rolled down glass.

“Thought you might like to share.”

So, they had smoked the joint, talked, Billy had pushed down the butterflies in his stomach when Steve’s fingers brushed his every time they passed it back and forth. From that day on, they had become friends. As much as enemies to friends could be.

Then, one night, at some girl’s party, Steve had dragged him by his jacket away from some girl he had been half-heartedly flirting with and pushed him in to the bathroom. Billy had stared at him, feeling his chest tighten, wondering if this was it, this was Steve going to get his revenge on him after all. He knew he didn’t deserve a friend like him, Steve was too good, too sweet and he had been waiting for it all to come crashing down on him.

He had expected fists, expected a hard punch in the face. But then Steve had crowded him in against the tiled wall and kissed him. He had tasted of cheap beer and cigarettes, but Billy had been in heaven. He had just groaned, kissed him back like his life depended on it and blamed the alcohol for the fire in his veins.

It hadn’t lasted long. The sound of someone stumbling up the stairs had Billy running from the room, ripping himself away for the boy and sprinting out the front door. He had stormed his way up to the quarry and smoked the rest of his cigarettes, heart thundering, achingly hard with the taste of Steve still on his tongue.

After that, he had resolved to pretending it never happened, hardened his shell and walked through the school corridors ready to punch the lights out of anyone that dared comment about it. No one had saw them, of course, but that didn’t mean Steve hadn’t told anyone. Maybe it had all been a cruel prank, the ultimate revenge against him. Get his secret out, have the whole school turn and laugh at him, call him a faggot until it reached his father and surely he would have killed him that time.

But it didn’t happen. Instead, Harrington had sidled up to him at his locker looking breath-taking in a soft, fluffy red jumper and sinfully skinny jeans, hair styled perfectly and pretty face all lit up.

“Meet me at the Quarry tonight.”

Then he was walking off like nothing had happened.

Billy didn’t know what possessed him to go meet him, his body thrummed in anxiety, still thinking it might be a trap. But still, he had gone, driving too fast with his music too loud, fingers drumming frantically on the steering wheel.

Steve had been sitting on the hood of his beamer, smiling bright like the fourth of July at the sight of Billy. Before the blond could even get a word out Steve was kissing him again, body pressed so deliciously against his and Billy had wrapped his arms around him and let his mind go blank.

It went on from there, sneaking around, secret touches here and there, stealing kisses in the Camaro before school, hands down each other’s pants under the bleachers until Billy’s entire world gravitated around Steve.

Billy kicked off his bed and went to his stereo, an old heap of junk he had found in a thrift store in town. He clicked on his tapes, turning it down until it was just a low hum, just loud enough for him to hear as he lay back in his bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

 _Girl, it's been a long time that we've been apart. Much too long for a man who needs love._ _I miss you since I've been away._

It had been nearly a week since they last saw each other. Steve’s parents had come home suddenly from whatever trip they had been on and that had taken up all his time. Even the kids hadn’t been hanging around much, just meeting occasionally at the arcade and it ached Billy’s chest when he rolled in to drop Max off and saw no sign of the all too familiar beamer. School had been better, harder to sneak around in but at least he got sight of his pretty boy. Steve really was King of the school, no matter what Tommy said.

_Babe, it wasn't easy to leave you alone. It's getting harder each time that I go. If I had the choice, I would stay._

It never fails to take Billy’s breath away, the sight of him walking down the corridors, or covered in sweat in practice, soap and suds in the showers after. Steve’s body is lithe and toned, all long limbs and creamy pale skin. Those brown eyes follow his every move, he knows, because he’s watching the boy just as intently.

 _There's no one like you._ _I can't wait for the nights with you. I imagine the things we'll do. I just want to be loved by you._  
  


Steve has become an itch under his skin, something he can’t shirk off, not until he once more has the boy in his arms, against his mouth, coating his tongue. The longing is mirrored in his eyes, that look that said I’m in just as deep as you are.

_Girl, there are really no words strong enough to describe all my longing for love._ _I don't want my feelings restrained_   
  


Billy has never really been one for sappy love songs. He likes his books, his car, his cigarettes. His music was always a statement, loud and overpowering, like the way he paints himself. But this song, it was a guilty pleasure of his and it had pretty boy running through his head whenever he listened to it.

_Oh babe, I just need you like never before. I just imagine you'd come through this door, you'd take all my sorrow away._

When he is with Steve, everything else just seems to shut off. No Neil, no Susan, no Max to worry about and cart around. He likes Steve’s big, empty house. He likes that it is a place for just the two of them, to be wrapped up in one another. He likes spreading the boy out on his clean, white sheets. He likes how he lies there, hair falling on to the pillow, skin flushed from his cheeks, down his neck to his chest where Billy licks and bites. He likes how Steve’s hands don’t stop touching him, roaming over his skin, fingers thread in to his hair, poke at his cheeks and slip into his mouth when his lips fall open. He likes how Steve looks at him like he’s hung the moon in the sky. No one has ever looked at him like that before. Not since is mother. He likes how the boy seems to know him. He knows when to stay quiet, knows when to get loud and pushy. He knows when Billy is teetering on the edge of control and knows how to pull him back from it.

_There's no one like you._

He’s in deep with Harrington. There really is no one else like him. No one does it for Billy quite like the guy did. He can’t get enough, every kiss, every touch, it sears itself in to Billy’s skin, in his mind. Steve is all he can think about. He craves the boy like he craves his cigarettes, smoking them one after the other and never wants to run out. He chases the high of him, the euphoria that comes with just being near him.

_I can't wait for the nights with you._

He punches the stop button, silence flooding the small space and he stubs out his cigarette in his ashtray. His skin itches with that all too familiar feeling and its hard to ignore the urge. He shrugs in to his jean jacket and quietly pushes open the window, carefully climbing out and shutting it behind him without a sound. He drops down to the lawn and glances to his baby sitting pretty and inviting in the drive but she’s too risky, her engine’s purr is too loud and Neil waking up is the last thing he needs. So instead, he shoves his hands in to the pockets of his jacket and ducks in to the surrounding woods in the all too familiar direction.

_I imagine the things we'll do._

Harrington’s house is lit up like a Christmas tree and the beamer is the only car in the drive. Billy pulls on his cigarette and tosses it away, pulls the spare key from its spot on the top of the door frame and lets himself inside. He locks it behind him because Steve had nagged him enough about leaving the doors unlocked and mounts the stairs, his way well lit. He doesn’t try to be quiet and by the time he pushes open the door to Steve’s bedroom the boy is awake inside, sits up in his bed and squints warily at the door until he sees who it is.

_I just want to be loved by you_

Its late but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, he looks at him with that soft, dopey grin of his, hair sticking up in every direction, shirtless and fucking beautiful. Billy shrugs off his jacket wordlessly and Steve’s eyes drag over each inch of skin revealed to him until Billy is bare. He climbs into the bed as Steve pulls back to covers and shuffles over to let him in but Billy’s having none of that, straddles him where he lies in the middle of the bed, slips his hands around him and kisses him firmly.

Steve folds the covers back over his back, encasing him in the warmth of the sheets and Steve’s body, effectively banishing the night air chill in his skin. He threads his fingers in Billy’s curls and tilts his head to deepen the kiss and Billy could roar in satisfaction.  His hands roam over golden skin and Billy tongues at the creamy expanse of his neck, pressing his body into him, feeling him naked and hard and fucking delicious.

Steve pulls away to look deep into Billy’s eyes, fingers pulling the curls away from his face and his expression is filled with so much feeling that has Billy’s heart racing and throat closing up and chest feeling so warm. His kisses become more desperate, his hands pull him closer and he tangles himself in this boy so tightly until he has no hope of escaping, no desire to.

“ _There’s no one like you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Scorpions' song No One Like You


End file.
